


road trip from hell

by NoItsBecky_127



Series: Local Child Proceeds To Race Into Oblivion Gate, Somehow Doesn’t Die [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Awkwardness, Cultural Differences, Fantasy cultural differences, Gen, I also continue to abuse ellipses, I continue to abuse hyphens, I mean it, I tried my best, No Shipping Allowed, Oblivion Main Quest, POV Original Character, Please be gentle, Teenager Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24690775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoItsBecky_127/pseuds/NoItsBecky_127
Summary: “So,” he says, “who are you, exactly?”She narrows her eyes. “I’m Anialith Springbrook,” she deadpans. “We went over this about eight hours ago.”“You know that isn’t what I meant.” She does know, but it’s fun, being difficult with Imperials.
Relationships: Hero of Kvatch | Champion of Cyrodiil & Martin Septim
Series: Local Child Proceeds To Race Into Oblivion Gate, Somehow Doesn’t Die [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733221
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	road trip from hell

**Author's Note:**

> In a turn of events shocking literally everyone, I wrote a part two. You get to see inside Anialith’s head this time. Enjoy!

If you asked Anialith Springbrook a week ago where she expected to be in a week, she would have said in prison.

Unless there were no guards watching. Then she would have asked you for a lockpick and said she planned on being out of Cyrodiil. But either way, she was _not_ planning on leading Uriel Septim’s bastard son to Weynon Priory because Oblivion is invading Nirn.

Here she is, though. _Y’ffre, when did my life get so strange?_

 _Don’t answer_ _that_ , she adds mentally, just in case Y’ffre chooses this moment to start answering her prayers, because she knows exactly when her life got this strange and she’d prefer not to think about it.

”You said the emperor spoke to you before he died, and told you to find me.” Anialith tenses briefly at the sound before recognizing it as Martin. “Why?”

So Martin wants to talk, then. She doesn’t, but she can humor him. “What do you mean, why? We need you because you’re the only person alive who can relight the Dragonfires and stop any more Oblivion gates from opening.” _I explained this right before we left, honestly._

”No—that isn’t what I meant,” Martin says. “I was just wondering…why someone so young?”

 _Oh_. Anialith would have preferred that Martin was just dumb enough to forget critical information.

She stops walking, turning around to face him. “Okay, Martin,” she says, “I’m going to give you a pass, because we just met and you’re probably on edge after all this, but for future reference? This will go _much_ better for both of us if you don’t doubt my capabilities. Understood?”

Anialith doesn’t wait for a response before she starts walking again. She may be young, but she’s perfectly capable, and if Martin’s going to let the former overshadow the latter, then the next day isn’t going to go well.

”Understood.” Good.

She supposes she ought to give some sort of answer. Of course, _the dead emperor saw me in his dreams_ doesn’t really pass for an answer, but it’s close enough. “Now, to answer your question, I don't know much, really.” Cyrodiil was weird enough _before_ all this started. “I’m willing to tell you what I do know, though. Uriel Septim saw me in his dreams, and he knew I was important somehow. It sounds bizarre, but he spent ten years in Oblivion, so weird prophetic dreams aren’t really a surprise. Anyhow, I’m not sure if what happened was fate, or sheer dumb luck, or something else entirely.” Anialith shrugs. “And really, it doesn’t matter.”

”He and his Blades had an escape route,” she continues. “Not sure where their destination was, but it went through the Imperial City’s prison.” At this point, it occurs to her that being open about her criminal past might not be the best idea. Then she ignores that thought, because what the hell’s it matter? “Cell was supposed to be empty. Instead, it held me.”

The sound of Martin’s footsteps abruptly cuts off. “You were in _prison?!_ ”

 _Yeah, that was about what I expected_. Anialith turns around. “ _Were_ is the key word there. I’m fairly certain I’ve been pardoned.” Though now that she thinks about it, she isn’t sure how that happened. One of the Blades must have seen to it.

”Yes, but—” Martin shakes his head. “You’ll have to forgive me if I’m suspicious of a child who did something bad enough to get arrested.”

”Oh, relax,” she scoffs. “I stole some jewelry. That’s it. I’m not some insane woman out for blood.” She turns back around and starts walking again before he can question this topic further. “In any case, because of the aforementioned prophetic dreams, the emperor decided I was trustworthy. He knew he was going to die, and before he did, he gave me the amulet. Said to get it to Jauffre. Jauffre told me to find you, and, well. You know what comes next.”

Martin is silent for a moment behind her. “That’s a lot to put on a child.”

Again with the age thing. “What did I _just_ tell you about doubting my capabilities?” Anialith deadpans.

“I’m not doubting you,” he counters. “I just don’t think it was right to give you that responsibility.”

She presses her lips together. “Well, it’s a bit late to question whether it was right or not, isn’t it?”

”…I suppose so.”

“Glad we agree,” she says. “Now, this has been fun, but I’m going to have to put a moratorium on the questions about me. Ask anything else, but I’m off limits. You’re asking too many.”

The confusion in Martin’s voice is palpable when he says, “I’ve asked you _one_.”

”Precisely,” she responds, not missing a beat. Martin seems alright, for an Imperial, but that’s not a very high bar. She’d rather not answer his questions, and he seems to like asking them.

”You—” Martin sighs. “Very well.”

“Good.”

That seems to end the conversation, to Anialith’s relief. She doesn’t want to get to know Martin or anything—she wants to get him to Weynon Priory, because the sooner that happens, the sooner she can be done with all of this.  
  
She hasn’t really stopped to consider what she’s going to do once this is done, she realizes. It’s barely been a week since this all started, and she’s been pretty busy this whole time—now, though, it seems like it’s about to come to an end. She’ll get Martin to Weynon Priory, and her role in this will be done.

And then what?

It’s been a while since Anialith’s had to wonder what she’s going to do next. For the past two months, it’s been the same routine day after day in that damn prison. Even before that, it was just a matter of stealing whatever she could—but that isn’t a feasible life. The guards already looked twice at her before this, a lone Bosmer light on her feet, but that's nothing compared to how they'll be now that she's been in prison. She has to find something else to do—the only question is what.

It’s a question for later.

Anialith grits her teeth and focuses on the path.

* * *

“I don’t suppose you have a lantern somewhere in those robes?”

In Anialith’s defense, the question is not entirely unprompted. The path in front of them is growing dim with the setting sun, and both she and Martin value being able to see what’s in front of them.

But it doesn’t matter whether the question was unprompted or not, because the answer is, “I do not. What about in your satchel?”

“Nothing.” Anialith scans the trees surrounding the path for a few moments before her eyes land on what she needs. She scales a few feet up the tree, reaches up, and snaps off a long, thin branch.

Anialith hands the branch to Martin. “You know,” he says, “I thought you couldn’t surprise me anymore, but you just did.”

”What, you thought I was soft under the armor?” She says, dismissive. “Shooting a bow isn’t as easy as I make it look. Takes muscle.”

”No, just—I was under the impression wood elves didn’t make a habit of harming nature.”

Oh, joy. He wants to have the Green Pact conversation. Well, she isn’t in the mood to talk about her religion with an Imperial, so she’ll give him the short version.

”Valenwood is sacred and we can’t harm it,” she offers by way of an explanation. “The other countries, we don’t give a damn about. Anyhow, do you know any fire spells?”

Martin looks more than a little confused at the abrupt subject change. ”I think so, but destruction magic is hardly my specialty.“

”Well, I don’t know any at all, so here.” Anialith hands him the branch. “Make us a torch.”

It takes a couple of attempts, but Martin lights a decent flame at the end of the branch. “Hang on to that,” Anialith says. “I need both hands free if anything decides it prefers us dead. Besides, you may as well do _something_ to make yourself useful.”

And yeah, maybe that’s rude of her to say, but what’s it matter? They’ll be parting ways soon enough, anyhow.

* * *

It's quite a few hours later when the sky grows dark and the moon comes out, and that's when Anialith realizes they can’t just walk for a day straight. The stamina potions she stocked up on have kept them going, but they’re no replacement for sleep.

”We should stop for the night,” she says. “Get some rest. Jauffre gave me a couple of bedrolls before I left; we can use those.”

Martin nods. “Really, it’s a good thing you had those potions, or I think we’d both have passed out hours ago.”

Is he trying to have a conversation? By Y’ffre, he is. “I’m going to set these up.”

There’s a patch of grass just off the path where there aren’t any trees. Perfect size for a couple of bedrolls. Martin lights a fire, to Anialith’s annoyance— _You’re basically telling everyone, hey! We’re here! Come kill us!_ —but he refused to back down. _We can extinguish it before we go to sleep. For now, we need to be able to see._

”So,” he says, once they’re sitting on their respective bedrolls, “who _are_ you, exactly?”

She narrows her eyes. “I’m Anialith Springbrook,” she deadpans. “We went over this about eight hours ago.”

“You know that isn’t what I meant.” She does know, but it’s fun, being difficult with Imperials. “Just—tell me about yourself.”

Anialith reaches into her satchel, rummaging through it. “You know, just because that wasn’t technically a question doesn’t mean I’m going to answer it.”

”I’d like to know a bit more about the person I’m traveling with,” Martin says. “Just humor me.”

Anialith takes out some bread and two apples. “I was born in 416.” If he wants to know about her, this is the sort of thing he’ll get. “Evening Star—sign of the Thief. Little village in central Valenwood—‘s near Vindisi. I’m an archer, as you’ve seen, but I’m not awful with a dagger, either.” Okay, she’s done with this whole sharing thing. “Consider that all the info you get out of me.”

Martin furrows his brow. “You’re a very…private person.”

“That I am.” Anialith shrugs, tearing the bread in two. “Your point?”

”Nothing. It was just an observation.”

Anialith elects not to reply to that. “Here.” She hands him an apple and half of the bread. “It’s not much, but ‘s what I’ve got. Bon appetit, as I’m told they say in High Rock.”

”Thank you,” Martin says.

They eat their paltry meal in relative silence. Martin seems to have decided to acknowledge the moratorium on questions, and Anialith’s not exactly jumping at the chance to start up another conversation.

She doesn’t like apples, much. Any fruit or vegetable, really. Bread is fine, distanced enough from its origins as dead wheat that she can stomach it. But something like an apple, something that’s blatantly plant matter, it just feels wrong to eat it. Makes her sick to her stomach. The Pact was all she knew until a few months ago, and she’s found that she wasn’t missing much.

Once they’ve both finished, Martin extinguishes the fire, and it’s time for an attempt at sleep.

If she could, Anialith would sleep with her bow and quiver on her back, same locations as during the day. Unfortunately, that position isn’t particularly comfortable for the whole ‘sleeping’ thing, something she learned on a hunting trip back in Valenwood. So she’s settled for the next best thing.

It’s with her quiver in one hand and her bow inches from the other that Anialith falls asleep, the same as whenever she sleeps on the road. If Martin notices, he doesn’t ask.

* * *

The first thing Anialith notices when she wakes up is that her right hand is killing her. At some point in her sleep, her hold on the quiver turned to a death grip and stayed that way, and now she’s paying the price for that.

She curses as she puts her bow and quiver back in their typical positions, rubbing at her hand. Damn—

“These should probably go back in your satchel, shouldn’t they?”

Anialith’s hands twitch towards her bow before she remembers _oh yeah, I have a temporary companion_. For a second, she almost forgot about the chaos of the previous day.

Martin is holding out the bedrolls, both rolled back up into their default state. Flexing her hand to assuage the ache, she accepts them, stuffing them back into her satchel. “Thanks.”

”It’s no trouble.”

“Right, well.” _Get it together, Springbrook. All he did was hand you a couple of bedrolls._ “We should keep moving. I checked my map—it should only be a couple more hours before we hit Weynon Priory.”

”Great,” Martin says, looking like this is anything but great. On the contrary, he looks like he’s composed primarily of anxiety.

If Anialith were a nicer person, or a warmer person, or even just a bit more comfortable with emotions, she would ask Martin what was wrong. Listen to whatever’s bothering him.

Anialith is none of those things.

The rest of the walk to Weynon Priory is a quiet one.

* * *

”We should come up on it in a minute,” Anialith says. “It’s been fun, Martin. Hope you—”

She stops short as they round a corner, and the priory comes into their view.

It’s in chaos.

You’d never know from the priory itself, still standing like nothing’s wrong. But the people are running this way and that, like they’re trying to escape something and don’t know how.

A Dunmer man dashes up to the two of them. “Help—you must help! We’ve been attacked!”

Anialith holds up her hands. “Hang on, what happened?”

”I don’t know! They could still be here, for all I know! Prior Maborel is dead!”

”Who’s they?” Martin asks.

”They looked like ordinary travelers,” the Dunmer says. “But then weapons appeared in their hands, and they cut down the Prior before he could move! They ransacked the place then, killing anyone who got in their way. We think they left, but we can’t be sure.”

”And Jauffre?” Anialith asks. “Where’s he?”  
  
“Last I heard, he was praying in the Chapel,” the Dunmer says. “Knowing Jauffre, he hasn’t left. Check there.”

Okay. She can do that.

So much for getting out of all this nonsense.

”Looks like there’s been a change of plans,” Anialith mutters. “Come on, Martin. Let’s go find ourselves a Blade.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment, they fuel me. Thanks!


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